


Unrealistic Sexpectations

by FlashFlashFlash



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Creampie, Gay Marriage, Interruption, M/M, Smut, Tour Fic, circa 2006
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-17 00:46:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12353919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlashFlashFlash/pseuds/FlashFlashFlash
Summary: Pete and Patrick think they have time for a quick fuck before a show. They don’t. Oops?





	Unrealistic Sexpectations

**Author's Note:**

> I’m just gonna... leave this here...   
> Aminta x

"Oh! Oh, oh, oh!" 

That's all Patrick's been saying for three minutes now. He's got circular indents from an upturned bucket on one knee through his jeans, which are only pulled halfway down his thighs with his boxers. His left foot (still wearing his red converse) is tapping against the floor as his legs shake seven times faster than Pete's thrusts. His knuckles are white from gripping at the dusty shelf of the venue janitor's closet, and his eyes are almost crossing from staring at the bottle of toilet bleach level with his eyes. 

"Yeah, baby... You look so pretty like this, all bent over-" 

"Oh! Ohhhh... Yes!" Patrick whimpers. He's getting desperate, and sobbing a little now, too hot inside his burgundy polo shirt and patterned mushroom hoodie but too far gone to take them off. All he can do is reach up and hold the brim of his trucker hat with dust-caked fingers to save it from the slightly sticky floor beneath his trembling feet. 

"I know, baby, I know," Pete breathes. "What -ah, shit!"  
Patrick extends his leg, pushing up, resting his foot on the bucket instead, and moving his knee further to the side, allowing Pete enough room to finally bottom out, balls slapping against the unmarked skin of the crease underneath Patrick's ass cheeks and perineum. "Stay there, baby, you can do it." Patrick gasps, and Pete just knows he's hit that spot. "What's my name, baby? Tell me my name."

"Oh!" Patrick's knees almost buckle, but Pete's got an iron grip on his smooth hips, and holds him up, grunting as he thrusts. "Daddy!" 

"That's it! You got it, baby!" Pete laughs heartily, but then he's choking on air, because Patrick is clenching around his dick, pulsing madly, and calling him 'Daddy' as if his life depends on it. 

"Yes, Daddy! Please, Daddy, please-" 

That's when they hear it. 

"Pete? Patrick?" It's Andy, pacing the hallway, searching for them. "We're on in, like, ten minutes, where are they, Joe?" 

"I dunno, man. Patrick said he wasn't feeling good, so they left to go find somewhere quiet." 

"Bullshit. That was, like, an hour ago. They're fucking again."

"Shit!" Patrick whisper shouts. It's not a hot 'shit', gasped on the edge if orgasm, or a needy 'shit', a whine begging Pete to touch his aching cock, or even an initial shock 'shit', exclaimed after weeks of unintentional abstinence on a shared tour bus, finally being made up for in a fancy hotel that their record label paid for to say sorry for booking a show on their first wedding (well, domestic partnership) anniversary. Instead, it's a panicked, potentially anxiety-attack-signalling 'shit', seemingly specifically adapted to make Pete's dick soft in a matter of seconds. "You're all limp, it's weird." Patrick states, having accepted his fate and speaking at regular volume. "Get out of my ass, please."

"It'd be a pleasure, dearest," Pete sighs. He pulls out and tries not to shiver as he stuffs his dick back into his boxers and yanks on his fly. It's selfish, very much so, but he's glad he'd already had an orgasm (unlike Patrick), that is, until-

"Pete, we did not think this through." 

"Tell me about it. We have ten minutes to get on stage."

"No, seriously, I can't stand up, 'cause I'll leak." Patrick gulps, still rigid in his position. Pete peers cautiously at his ass, though the bad lighting makes it a little hard to tell, and thinks that Patrick is right, because the tiny amount of fluid bubbling from his hole doesn't look much like lube. 

"You have to-"

Knock, knock, knock. 

"We know you're in there." Andy sounds pissed. 

"Can we come in, or are you still-"

Andy has opened the door anyway. His eyes are focused upwards, as to avoid seeing Patrick's bare ass. Joe quickly averts his eyes upon watching the door swung open. 

"Dude!" Pete growls, grabbing at Patrick's boxers and pulling them up. 

"Pete, my boxers are gonna be soaked," Patrick whines quietly. Nobody can see his face, but they're all sure he's on the verge of tears. 

"Right now, we have a show to do, but we are talking about this afterwards." Andy taps his foot and locks eyes with Pete, taking in his flushed cheeks, and furrowed brow. Patrick sinks slowly to the floor, wrestling to get his jeans done up again, eventually ending up hunched over on his knees, body shaking more and more with every sob, his hands covering his face.

"Baby, don't cry," Pete says softly, crouching down to rub Patrick's back. "Don't cry, baby, please. We have to play a show." 

Patrick's face is red and a little tear-stained throughout the concert, and he keeps shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other to ease the warm, wetness of the mess in the back of his pants, but still Andy glares at him every time they make eye contact.

-

"We're not saying you can't have sex."

"No, but you're giving us allotted times, which is nearly worse!" Pete throws himself onto the bus' sofa. Andy shrugs, and pours some more almond milk into his tea. 

"It's hotel nights only, or nothing," he says, stirring gently. Patrick groans in the doorway, doubled over somewhat in discomfort, an arm around his stomach and his eyes drooping. 

"You're treating us like we're kids, Andy," Patrick protests, shoulders slumping. "We're as close to married as the government will let us be, and you're seriously telling us that we have to have a boring, humdrum sex life because -argh!" Patrick throws his hat at the floor out of frustration and pulls at his hair, yelling something Pete thinks is probably not a real word. "I want my human fucking rights back!" 

"Patrick, for goodness' sake! Badly timed, unsanitary coitus is not your human right." Andy sighs disapprovingly, while Pete just looks up at his 'husband' sympathetically. 

"I know that, Andy!" Patrick stamps his foot, and buries his face in his hands. Exasperated, he looks up a few moments later. "I am an actual adult, you know, legitimately an adult -I pay my own bills, and everything, but I have a domestic partnership, a domestic fucking partnership, instead of a real marriage, because the idea of putting my dick in a vagina literally makes me want to throw up. I'm not even kidding! I had to sit with a bowl in health class for four years, because I thought someone was going to make me do that!"

"Patrick-"

"Shut up! I have never had sex with a woman; I used to ride my lab partner in the back of his brother's car in an old Wendy's parking lot, 'cause I was too scared to tell my mom and ask her to stay out later -which, apparently, was useless, because I'm a fucking flamer, which I didn't know for, like, five years, which was great because my own mother didn't even-"

"Baby, stop, this isn't about your mom," Pete interjects, swinging his legs off the couch and pushing upwards into a sitting position. He looks at Andy. "What Patrick is trying to say, is that he wants to get married, but is too stubborn to do so until it's legal in all states for moral purposes, so can he please just have hot fake-married sex to make up for the six hours he had to pretend to be excited about meeting all my cousins at said fake wedding? I mean, the hot sex is an anger outlet because of the government and daddy issues-" Pete winks at Patrick, who blushes. "But it's the best we've got until-" he makes an ironic hashtag with his fingers. "Love wins, and I can fuck his brains out on top of our marriage certificate, so can you please get off our backs and realise this has nothing to do with the fact that public sex is really, really, fucking hot."

Andy looks dumbfounded. 

"Patrick," Andy gulps. "Did you shower yet?"

"No.” 

"That’s... kinda gross, dude.” 

“I know that. It’s Pete’s cum in my ass; I know it’s gross.” 

“Question,” Pete raises his hand a little. “If I fuck him in the shower now, does that count?”

“I guess not, as long as you let me watch Star Wars on loud while you’re busy.” Andy shrugs.

Pete makes glinting eye contact with Patrick, grinning, and says, “Deal.”


End file.
